Page 22 of Feral Gods
I ease my grip slightly, allowing him to draw a ragged breath. "What things?"
"Plans. Rituals." The scout's eyes dart nervously to the side, as if seeking escape. "The awakening of... ancient weapons."
My interest sharpens. "What weapons?"
"I don't know details. Lord Vathren sent me to offer terms." Another gasping breath as I loosen my hold further. "Return the slave, and he will intercede with the king. Grant you... amnesty."
A bark of laughter escapes me, harsh and cold. "Amnesty? For what crime? Existing after they attempted to erase us?" Ibring the scout's face closer to mine, letting him see the ancient rage burning in my amber eyes. "What does Lord Vathren know of the gargoyles, scout? What tales have survived our imprisonment?"
Fear dilates his pupils, the scent of it sharp in the cold air. "Stories... monsters created during the vrakken war. Betrayed the king. Cursed to stone by the purna."
"Betrayed the king?" My voice drops to a dangerous purr. "Is that the tale they tell? Not that we were betrayed? Not that we were heroes who saved their worthless kingdom from the vrakken, only to be rewarded with eternal imprisonment?"
The scout's eyes widen. "I... that's not the history we're taught."
"Of course not." I release him suddenly, letting him crumple to the snow at my feet. "History is written by the victors, and your ancestors needed to justify their treachery."
He scrambles backward, rubbing his throat, but makes no move to flee. Interesting. Either he's more dedicated to his mission than most, or there's more to this parley than he's revealed.
"Lord Vathren believes the king's obsession with the girl is... disproportionate," he says, voice raspy from my grip. "He seeks to understand why his household slave has become the focus of such extraordinary measures."
Ah. Now we reach the truth. Political maneuvering among the dark elf nobility, with Kaia as the unexpected fulcrum. I've seen such games before, played them myself in my former life.
"And if I told you why the king wants her so desperately?" I ask, circling the kneeling scout like a predator assessing wounded prey. "What would Lord Vathren offer in exchange for such valuable intelligence?"
The scout hesitates, clearly straying beyond his authorized negotiating parameters. "Protection," he finally offers."Sanctuary within his estate, away from the king's direct authority."
I laugh again, the sound echoing across the snow-covered courtyard. "Exchanging one prison for another. Your lord's generosity overwhelms me." I stop circling, looming over him with wings partially extended. "Here is my counter-offer. You will return to Lord Vathren with a message."
The scout's posture straightens slightly, sensing the imminent conclusion of our encounter. "What message?"
"Tell him the gargoyles of Causadurn Ridge have awakened. Tell him the human called Kaia is under our protection, claimed as our ward by ancient rights of sanctuary. Tell him any who seek to reclaim her will face the full measure of our vengeance—a vengeance centuries in the making."
I allow my voice to drop to a menacing rumble. "And tell him if he truly wishes to understand the king's interest in the girl, he should investigate the ancient texts regarding the purna bloodlines and their connection to the temple sanctuaries. Perhaps then he will comprehend what forces he meddles with."
The scout swallows hard, committing my words to memory. "And if he wishes further parley?"
"There will be no parley." I step back, allowing him space to rise. "There will be only surrender or war. The choice is his."
The scout retrieves his fallen dagger with a wary eye on my imposing form. "You would wage war against all of Liiandor for a human slave?"
The question strikes at the heart of the conflict raging within me—the irrational, overwhelming protectiveness I feel toward Kaia, disproportionate to any logical assessment of her value or our debt to her. I don't fully understand it myself, this possessive instinct that grows stronger each day. But I know with bone-deep certainty that I would indeed tear down the walls of Liiandor stone by stone before allowing them to reclaim her.
"She is ours," I state simply, the declaration feeling right in a way I cannot articulate. "Go now, before I reconsider your value as a messenger."
He backs away, maintaining eye contact until reaching the edge of the courtyard. Only then does he turn and sprint into the shelter of the trees, disappearing as skillfully as he arrived.
I watch until certain of his departure, then turn back toward the temple, my thoughts churning with the implications of this encounter. Lord Vathren seeking separate negotiations from the king. The reference to ancient weapons. And most troubling of all—my own visceral reaction to the thought of surrendering Kaia, even theoretically.
What is happening to me? This possessiveness goes beyond simple protection of a ward or repayment of a debt. It feels primal, instinctive, a claiming deep in my core that recognizes her asminein ways I've never experienced before.
I find Zephyr waiting just inside the temple entrance, his expression carefully neutral. "I heard," he says simply. "Not the scout's words, but yours. Quite the declaration of intent."
"A necessary show of strength," I reply, brushing past him into the warmth of the inner temple. "Dark elves respect only power and the willingness to use it."
"Indeed." Zephyr falls into step beside me, his silver-gray form a stark contrast to my obsidian darkness. "Though I wonder if there wasn't something more personal in your claim. 'She is ours,' you said. A collective ownership I don't recall us discussing."
I halt, turning to face him fully. "Would you prefer I had said 'mine'? Because that was my first instinct."
